


Private space

by BarricadeKitten (Dominatrix)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And they're both ridiculous, Cuddling, Enjolras is not really smooth, Everything is fluff and nothing hurts, First Kiss, First accidentally, French idiots in love, Gosh these two, It's so fluffy you're gonna die, M/M, and then not, not at all, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2231781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/BarricadeKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Enjolras wakes up, he senses there are some things off about this situation.<br/>He expects to be groggy, grumpy, and cold.<br/>Most of all though, he expects to be alone.</p><p>He’s not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private space

When Enjolras wakes up, he senses there are some things off about this situation.

He pulled an all-nighter yesterday for this essay in sociopolitical history he needs to have ready for Monday, and gave up on staying awake around eight in the morning. He was barely awake enough to strip his clothes except for his red boxer briefs and to climb into bed, shivering furiously because he had kept his window open to keep the oxygen flow in the room on a healthy level. Although he had downed about seven cups of coffee, he had been asleep in minutes.

So when he struggles into consciousness, he expects to be groggy, grumpy, and cold.

However, he feels strangely rested, and comfortably warm, which is new for Enjolras, who is almost always freezing.

Most of all though, he expects to be alone.

He’s not.

His face is buried in the crook of somebody’s neck, one of his arms placed on a t-shirt-clad chest. The smell – a mixture of paint, smoke and cologne – makes Enjolras bite back a curse in his throat. He doesn’t need to look up to know he’ll be seeing blue eyes and a sarcastic grin.

He focuses on his surroundings instead of the fact that he is fucking snuggled up against Grantaire – _Grantaire_ – and frowns. The frown only deepens when he feels the man next to him shift a bit, and then hears him yawn.

He already knows he is not awake enough for this conversation, but there are only so many things Enjolras can ignore. Grantaire in his bed is not one of them. It gives him too many ideas that should _most definitely_ not be in his mind.

„Your hand is on my thigh“ he states slowly, with a small rise of his voice at the end of the sentence.

Grantaire chuckles. “I always knew you were a bright one. Good morning to you too.”

“I’ll say it differently: _Why_ is your hand on my thigh?” Enjolras is all for being polite, but now is not the time for courtesies, he decides.

“My hand was on my waist, innocently. Until you decided to sprawl all over me like a freaking golden starfish. So I moved.”

“And why are you in my bed anyway?” Enjolras curses himself that he only just now realizes this is not necessarily within the boundaries of their…whatever their relationship can be called. Far from it, actually.

“Combeferre dragged us around the city last night, and his and your place was closest. He said you wouldn’t mind.”

“Why aren’t you on the couch, then?” He still fails to see the inevitability of Grantaire in his bed. Not that he particularly hates the heat, though, and it is comfortable. He’ll be damned if he’ll ever say that out loud.

“Because, Apollo, that’s where Jehan lies. Every surface in your flat is covered in people. Believe me, I told them I’d rather take the kitchen table, but Éponine was adamant that she wouldn’t move from there as soon as she crashed down. I guess they’re all still asleep.”

“That…actually makes sense. A bit.” Enjolras makes a move to sit up, pushes himself off Grantaire a bit, but stops mid-way and slumps back. He is too tired to fight. The hand on his thigh stays where it is. He doesn’t mind as much as he probably should.

“Sorry for invading your private space, by the way” he mumbles, pushing his unruly curls out of his face with an impatient gesture.

“Well, it’s your bed. I should apologise first.”

Enjolras waves his hand vaguely. “Forgiven and forgotten.” He really should get out of bed, away from Grantaire. And put on more clothes. Yes, he should. But Grantaire is so warm, and soft, and un-Grantaire.

“Um…So. I don’t mean to cross any more boundaries.” His voice is still rough from sleep, and probably singing on the top of his lungs the night before, like he always does when they're somewhere and one of his favourite songs comes on. Grantaire has many favourite songs.

“But?” Enjolras sounds hopeful, and he wants to swallow his tongue for betraying him.

“Can I stay?”

The world stops for a moment.

Enjolras clears his throat softly before he dares to speak up again. “Are you offering?”

“Are you accepting?”

Enjolras hides his smile in Grantaire’s shoulder and tries not to feel like the happiest man in the existence of the universe. “Maybe.”

Within a splinter second, the hand on his bare thigh is gone, and Grantaire makes a big show out of struggling to sit up while pushing the blond man off him gently. “Well, then I’m better gonna leave. Sorry again.”

“R”, Enjolras laughs and clings to his neck. “Wait. Yes. Stay. Please.”

Grantaire smirks and falls back into the pillows, effectively pulling Enjolras on top of him. “Just what I wanted to hear.”

Enjolras rests his head on Grantaire’s t-shirt clad chest, his fingers drawing soft patterns on his stomach. After a few minutes, he pushes himself onto his elbows and blinks down at Grantaire, who has his eyebrows raised in expectation.

“Grantaire?” he asks, and his voice shouldn’t be as rough as it is, and his mouth not as dry. But he has been waiting to ask this for such a long time, and he’s feeling brave today, so maybe today will be the day he finally asks.

“Yes, Apollo?” he replies softly.

“Can I kiss you?”

There is a short span of silence, and Enjolras’s mind goes crazy. Shit. Shit, he has fucked up. He has fucked up so badly. Grantaire just wants to sleep, and he’s polite so he lets Enjolras cuddle up against him, he just wants to be friends, or acquaintances who fight all the time, and oh god how is he ever gonna live that humiliation down?

A soft hand that strokes his upper arm makes his gaze flicker down to Grantaire.

“I would be offended if you wouldn’t” he says with a sparkle in his eye.

Enjolras smiles widely, cups Grantaire’s jaw with one hand and bows down to kiss him. It’s chaste, just a touch of lips, but it makes the blood rush in his ears. When he pulls away again, Grantaire looks radiant, but he’s also obviously struggling to keep his eyes open.

“As much as I’d like to passionately make out with you, Apollo, because believe me, I have been waiting for years to do this…I need to sleep. The mind is willing, but the flesh is weak. Especially after a night out with Combeferre taking control on where we’re going.”

Enjolras nods, burying his face at Grantaire’s shoulder again and flinging an arm around his waist.

“Yea, me too. Are you gonna be here when I wake up again?”

“Sure. Don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Enjolras nods against Grantaire’s shoulder and yawns. “Let’s just make out when we’re less sleepy then.”

The low rumble that is Grantaire’s laughter makes Enjolras’s bones vibrate, and if he wouldn’t feel so tired, he would have a go at him right now.

“God, Enjolras. I always knew you were a romantic.”

Enjolras just chuckles, and his mumbled _Shut up Grantaire_ turns into a half-sigh, half-yawn when he feels a kiss being pressed on the top of his head.

He knows they will need to talk about this when they wake up again, but right now he is simply content with being curled around Grantaire while one hand softly strokes his hair and the other one runs up and down his thigh.

He could get used to that, he decides.


End file.
